


what's a god to a nonbeliever

by tamxiety



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, post 2x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamxiety/pseuds/tamxiety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The map leads her to the east. She had declined Indra’s offer of a guard. There were too many cracks in her armor to be around another person on this journey. Each jolt of her horse’s hooves rattled the broken pieces inside of her more. Besides, there was only one thing in these woods that could truly harm her in any way, and she was riding straight toward it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's a god to a nonbeliever

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little angst-break for me while I write That Soccer AU  
> it's basically a snippet of my take on Lexa and Clarke's reunion

Four weeks and three days. Four of the most agonizing weeks Lexa had ever experienced. She hadn’t been raised to live. She had been raised to fight, protect, and die. Each day of her existence had been filled with a purpose passed on from the roots of the trees and the grit of the dirt beneath her boots; lead her people or die trying. Time was inconsequential to this goal. She would use every moment to do reach that end.

But now, Lexa felt the weight of time heavy upon her shoulders. Every second felt like an eternity. It made her curl inwards, burdened under the sheer pressure of each passing second. Every breath she took was labored, constricting. But this was weakness, and weakness was not acceptable. Her new generals hadn’t yet noticed. Even Indra, the only one left who knew her well enough to see, had been turning a blind eye to the weariness in her Commander’s eyes. Whether it was out of respect or pity, Lexa didn’t know.

Four weeks and three days since Lexa left Clarke Griffin at the base of the Mountain, alone. Four weeks and two days since Lexa had heard the report that Clarke Griffin, leader of the Skaikru, had torn down the Mountain. Alone.

Some days, Lexa felt like the guilt of her actions was going to eat her alive. Betrayal was a double-edged sword. It hurt as much to swing as it did to cut.

Clarke had lived, yes. Lexa thanked the stars and the earth and the rivers every day for that. It was the only thing that had kept her on her feet in the aftermath. If she had sent another woman she...if she had sent another person into death, no amount of strength would have kept her going. Costia, Clarke, Costia, Clarke--both of their faces haunted her dreams, tears on mud-stained cheeks and blank, sightless eyes swirling in blood.

She clutched the hilt of her dagger tightly, all but relishing in the uncomfortable press of the metal against her skin. _Hodnes laik kwelnes_. Those words used to bring her some form of desperate comfort, something to painstakingly build walls from. They didn’t ease the weight anymore.

“Heda.” A voice came from outside her tent. Lexa closed her eyes to gather herself. _Hodnes laik kwelnes_. When she opened them again, the mask fell down.

“Komba raun.” The flap of the tent pulls back, revealing Indra in full armor, a determined set to her face. Lexa straightened on her throne, allowing the carved wood to dig into her back.

“I have a report from one of our scouts.”

“What is it?” Indra looks like she’s searching for words, something her general never did. Lexa had only known her to be immediate and rigid. She had been the urgency to balance Gustus’s caution. To see her holding back now was unsettling.

“Indra, speak. What did the scout report?”

“He did a sweep of our outer borders. Near the first Skaikru ship.” There is a pregnant pause where Lexa feels her skin begin to prickle. She knows it before Indra says it. She knows it from the way her bones seem to ache at the look on Indra’s face. The name floats around in her head again, just as it had every day, every second.

“Clarke. He found Clarke.” Burning fear chokes off anything further. Images of a body, _her_ body, flash behind Lexa’s eyes. The knuckles of her hand are white around the dagger.

“Yes, Heda.”

“Is she...?” Bile rises in Lexa’s throat. _Hodnes laik kwelnes_. The wood of the throne is going to leave bruises along her back. But she deserves them.

“She is alive. She camps in the husk of the ship.” Cool relief washes down her spine. Her grip on the on the dagger slackens and she allows herself to breath. Clarke is alive. Yet, why Indra reports this to her is still a mystery.

“Is she in danger?”

“No.”

“Then why do you come to me with this?” Indra narrows her eyes and the question. She moves further into the tent, gaze locked on her Commander’s face. When she is at the foot of the throne, Indra stops.

“Because I can tell you are suffering, Heda. You may have every other general fooled, but I trained you. I know your tells. Clarke kom Skaikru _haunts_ you.” Lexa opens her mouth to refute the claim, prove her strength, but Indra’s raised hand stops her. It is defiant, enough to elicit a serious punishment in a different situation. Still, her general holds her gaze.

“I do not enjoy the Skaikru. I lost my second to their foolish ideals. But I see the way you hold yourself, Heda. I know you are walking the camp at night because of what happened at the Mountain. You are punishing yourself for saving our people from death. It is not right.”

“Be careful where you tread, Indra.” Lexa growls.

“I respect you, Heda. If you wish to punish me for my words, so be it. But, I made the scout mark location of the ship on a map.” Indra’s eyes soften for a second. It’s almost imperceptible, but Lexa catches it. It makes the anger blooming in her chest deflate.

“It does not matter to me what you do,” Indra continues, “But we cannot afford to have our Commander drowned in her own guilt.”

\----

The map leads her to the east. She had declined Indra’s offer of a guard. There were too many cracks in her armor to be around another person on this journey. Each jolt of her horse’s hooves rattled the broken pieces inside of her more. Besides, there was only one thing in these woods that could truly harm her in any way, and she was riding straight toward it.

It felt a taut piece of twine was stretched between Lexa’s heart and the Sky dropship. The rapid beat of her own pulse and the heaving breaths of the animal beneath her were the only things to match the frantic, ugly twisting occurring just under the skin of her chest. _Hodnes laik kwelnes_. It felt true. Nothing but weakness would be making her heart feel as though it were about to fail.

The stark metal hull of the dropship came into sight one hundred yards away from the actual camp. Thick shafts of orange light highlighted the dirty sheen of the thing, throwing the colors of the sunset back out against the trees. It had not been long since the surrounding earth had been scorched, but already the forest had reclaimed its territory. Vines had begun to wrap around the lower regions of the ship, slowly repurposing the Sky people’s first home into another part of the ground. One lazy curl of smoke rose from somewhere near the base of the ship.

Lexa dismounted as quietly as she could and tied the reins of her horse to a nearby tree branch. Slowly, she picked her way towards the smoke. It looked to be a fire that had just been smothered, the remnants of a meal sizzling quietly in the ashes. Clarke was nowhere to be seen. A rattling sigh rushed from Lexa’s body. Perhaps it was a good thing Clarke was gone. At least she would have some time to organize her thoughts into something more cohesive than _Find Clarke_. Lexa sucked in a breath and turned to go back to her horse, only to find herself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

“You.” The word dripped with so much venom it made her heart shatter all over again. Just that one syllable dealt more pain than any wound she had ever received. The poison in it seeped through the mortar of her walls, making her knees quake.

“Clarke.” The setting sun was blazing in Clarke Griffin’s eyes. It turned the ends of her hair into molten gold and made the ice in her eyes light up like an inferno. Were it not for the fury in those eyes, Lexa would have done anything to capture the moment, the beauty of the girl before her. She has to focus to make sure her voice doesn’t shake.

“Clarke, I--”

“No,” And now the gun is pressed into the fabric of her chest guard and Clarke’s eyes are dry, “Turn around. Leave.”

“Clarke, please--”

“Lexa, I am warning you. Turn around and go. Or I will kill you where you stand.” A war is raging between them. As much as the cool metal of the gun is making her notice of how Clarke’s hands don’t shake, and as much as the sound her name in Clarke’s mouth makes Lexa want to fall to her knees, neither moves a muscle. The gun sits in the space between them, the trigger still untouched.

“If you want to kill me, I won’t fight you. But, please, let me speak.”

“Why?” Clarke yells, whipping the gun back, “What could you possibly say to me, Lexa? _I’m sorry_?”

“Yes.” A snarl rips from Clarke at her response. She stalks towards the remains of the fire and savagely kicks dirt into the dying embers. Lexa watches her, once again feeling her spine compacting under the weight of her guilt.

“No. No, no, no, no, _fuck_ you, Lexa. You don’t get to show up here and--” She cuts herself off and kicks at the dirt again, chest heaving. Abruptly, Clarke spins and takes three quick steps towards Lexa, eye’s blazing. She’s so close that Lexa can see the dark circles underneath her eyes, black and blue like bruises.

“You left,” There is a beat before Clarke is slamming her open palm against the plane of Lexa’s chest. Were it not for the light armor there, it would have knocked the wind out of her. Instead, it sends her stumbling back a pace.

“You left me.” Clarke doesn’t hit her again, but it feels like it it. Each word is a punch to the gut that leaves Lexa reeling. Pinpricks of shame and hatred are stabbing at Lexa’s body, her lungs, her eyes, her heart. _She’s sorry_.

“Did you know there were children in that mountain? _Children_ , Lexa. They were just kids and I--they were _kids_.” The intense disgust in her voice is evident, but whether it’s directed inwardly or at the Commander herself is difficult to tell. Clarke waved her hands limply at Lexa’s face, a sheen of tears across her eyes that she won’t allow to fall. Faces of the children in the villages back home flash in Lexa’s memory. Children running, laughing, playing. No doubt the same way they were in Mountain Weather. It hurts all the more to think that Clarke must know their faces, the numbers. Children weren’t supposed to die before they lived. Children weren’t supposed to be casualties of war.

“We all have blood on our hands, Clarke.” It’s trite, Lexa knows, but there was nothing else to say to make it better.

“Not the blood of an entire mountain. Not TonDC. Not even the 300 of your warriors I incinerated in this very spot.”

“Clarke--”

“No, I told you, I don’t want an apology. I’ve left a trail of bodies in my wake, Lexa. Apologize to them.” Silence follows. There are so many things she wants to say, but has no right to say. Lexa wants to wrap herself around Clarke, soothe the angry storm raging in her beaten body, and tell her that the blood doesn’t make her hands any less beautiful. But she can’t and she never will. Clarke is here because of Lexa’s decision. She may have been a killer before, but this Clarke, the one staring at her with broken shards of rage sticking into her skin, this Clarke has lost herself in the blood one too many times. Seconds tick by while Lexa’s frame groans under the weight.

“Clarke, we are leaders. We do what we must for our people. Our sins are done in their name.” It’s not an excuse, nor is it an apology. It’s just the truth, yet it still sounds so hollow. Clarke lets out a humorless laugh.

“You know,” She begins, waving her gun, “Dante said something similar to that. He said, ‘We bear it so they don’t have to’. Yeah, yeah, right before I _shot_ him in the heart.”

“He was right.”

“Well, I don’t want to bear it, Lexa!” A strangled sob rips from Clarke’s body. She drops the gun in the dirt and looks at her hands before turning to Lexa. No tears fall, but Clarke’s shoulders heave with the effort of feeling. One slender finger comes forward to the rest on the center of Lexa’s chest. There is little force behind it, but it still feels like it’s going to burn a hole straight through her flesh.

“I want to blame you.” She whispers.

“I will take it.” She deserves it.

“I want to blame you, but I can’t...I can’t blame you. You did what I would do,” Clarke closes her eyes, “What I have done.”

It is unfair that the world could warp someone as pure as Clarke Griffin. The girl who stood before her was the same one that had stormed in her tent weeks ago, had lead beside her weeks ago, had kissed her back weeks ago, but for the new age that she seemed to carry. Clarke’s gaze now held something that Lexa had only seen staring back at her in the mirror: the look of a person whose soul has seen more than their own eyes. It’s the final straw that breaks her armor and sends all the weight crashing down, down, down.

“Clarke,” Lexa breathed, reaching a tentative hand up to her opposite’s cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Her fingers stroked against skin that was still soft, still youthful. Litanies of apologies pour from her mouth, washing over Clarke. The smaller girl didn’t stop Lexa this time, she simply let her go on and on. Somewhere, in the midst of it all, they both ended up on their knees on the ground. Lexa pressed their foreheads together, both hands gently held against Clarke’s jaw, stroking it as the muscles beneath her fingertips twitched and clenched.

“You have suffered enough. We have suffered enough.” And, against everything the world has taught her, Lexa believed in those words. They had suffered more than enough.

They kneeled, together, until the sun had long set behind the trees and the world was dark around them. Slowly, Lexa forced herself to look directly into Clarke’s eyes. There were no walls, so armor, no armies made of ghosts.

“I did what I had to.” She whispered.

“So did I.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> for more nonsense follow me @ clarkecommander on tumblr


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